Oh my god, it couldn’t be,
This sight I see in front of me,
So limitless, filled with possibilities.
A war zone, lined with casualties.
But my sight was true,
And I breathed anew,
Seeing a tiny stalk spring through,
The single kernel, its yellow hue.
To be clear, let me set the scene.
Amid the petri dishes of moldy beans,
And brown weeds dying in between,
There lay untouched my aloe green
And a horde of mystery seeds, all fifteen.
Some I gathered from the ground,
Others from the pantry, a plentiful compound,
Potatoes and avocado pits, not bound
for growth or life, they quickly browned,
Surrounded in the water, no rebound,
The verdict was in: they had drowned.
But then, when I had almost forgotten,
The situation I had misbegotten,
A single shoot took root, not rotten,
And there it was, so uncommon.
A single kernel, lush with life,
No sign of struggle, nor any strife,
I wept with delight,
To see the seed had won the fight,
I nurtured it, and forthright,
It emerged from the soil, bathed in light.
The joy it brought me day after day,
even after my little plant passed away,
reminded me of the things they say,
In life and even in decay.
Amid the mold and sickly fumes,
Learn that one day soon, another plant will bloom,
Give it some time and some room
And a little more to consume,
It too shall pass and learn that life will resume.